


Five Years

by evilmaniclaugh



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 06:17:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2181132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh/pseuds/evilmaniclaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Milady is exiled Porthos decides to take matters into his own hands and dry Athos out. In doing so he discovers something he really didn't wish to know. Contains some book spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Years

1631

Events surrounding the reappearance of Athos' wife had taken their toll, but, after several months had passed, it seemed certain that Milady de Winter had indeed left Paris for pastures new. Porthos hoped it would herald a change in fortune for all of them, but unfortunately this was not proving to be the case.

Aramis was much quieter than normal, wrestling with a problem that he didn’t seem willing to share, and their newest recruit, d’Artagnan wasn’t going to get over the loss of Constance Bonacieux quickly, especially when she was still very much in evidence, but it was Athos who worried Porthos the most.

He’d hoped to see a change in the man now that the heavy weight of guilt had been lifted from about his shoulders, but instead it seemed as if this had been his entire purpose in life and, without it, he was directionless: a ship in the doldrums.

His drinking was worse than ever and some days it was impossible to rouse him for duty. They covered for him as much as they could, but Porthos knew it would be hard to keep his growing ill health a secret from the regiment for much longer and took the decision to force Athos to his senses during a short spell of leave.

There was no answer to his knocking, but knowing Athos was shut away in his rooms Porthos was having none of it and, to the landlady’s horror, he shoulder barged the door until it caved into splinters. The stench of old wine was foul and, ignoring the man who was heaped in an untidy mess on the bed, Porthos began clearing the place of empty bottles and soiled linens.

“Why are you here?” groaned Athos, turning over onto his back and warding off the sunshine with a forearm.

“I won’t have you drinking yourself to death,” growled Porthos. “Not when I’m around to stop you.”

“I’d ask you to go,” said Athos, “but I have a feeling it would be pointless.”

Porthos laughed, relieved that his friend was still aware enough to retain a speck of dry humour. “It would indeed. Now tell me honestly, Athos. Can you go without wine or will you get sick?”

“I functioned well enough in the past when necessary.” Athos looked downhearted. “But it’s been months since I went a day without a bottle of brandy,” he admitted shamefaced.

“Then we’ll see how you manage and take steps if things get worse. I plan to get away from Paris for some fresh air. Will you go along with me?”

“I'd be glad to.” Athos sounded pathetically grateful and Porthos was pleased he had taken this opportunity when it arose. He’d seen many folk in the Court of Miracles fall prey to the lure of drink and would hate to watch Athos turn into one of those vacant, dribbling fools.

It took nothing more than a bucket of cold water for Athos to consider himself ready, so keen was he to be away from the city. They collected their horses from the garrison stables and left for the country with the captain’s blessing coming in the concise form of a raised hand. He and Porthos had shared their concerns over Athos’ worsening behaviour many times since Milady’s banishment and Treville had actively encouraged Porthos to try and get to the bottom of what lay behind it during these few days off.

“We’ll hunt for our supper and be free of the constraints of city living,” said Porthos eagerly as they made their way across Pont Neuf.

“By constraints I rather think you mean indulgences,” said Athos with a smirk, “but nevertheless I agree.”

“Not entirely true,” laughed Porthos. “When was the last time you ate food cooked over a camp fire?”

“As I recall it was when the Queen almost poisoned us with incinerated fish guts,” said Athos. “I haven’t felt the urge since, I must confess.”

Porthos grinned, at ease with life and thoroughly pleased with his plan. Athos was loosening up and becoming more like his sarcastic old self with every mile they rode.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as they made camp for the night in a clearing surrounded by trees and close to a river.

“Not good to be honest,” said Athos as he dismounted and tethered his horse. “I haven’t done myself any favours. Neither have I been much use as a soldier or as a friend these past few months.”

It bothered Porthos to see Athos brought so low that he was willing to admit both failings and feelings. He’d not known him this raw since he’d knelt in obeisance to Richelieu and begged for the Comtesse de Larroque’s life to be spared. “You rest and keep drinking that water. I’ll catch us a rabbit for dinner.”

Athos laughed. “How?” he asked in obvious amusement. “You’d need to have snares set up already.”

“I’ll shoot them,” said Porthos stubbornly.

“Rabbits? With a musket?” Athos raised an eyebrow. “If you had a bow you’d have a good chance of taking a boar or a deer in the forest, but then you’d be arrested for poaching the King’s game.”

“You're never this negative when we’re soldiering,” grumbled Porthos.

“I am, however, renowned for my realism and our only chance of eating tonight is to catch some damned fish.”

Tickling for trout was a laborious process. Boots off and knee deep in the shallows of the river they tried to recall Aramis’ technique, laughing as they failed time after time. Eventually Athos managed to throw two floundering fish onto the riverbank and both men conceded that perhaps it wasn’t the sport for them.

Using his tinderbox to light the firewood he’d collected, Porthos watched as Athos gutted the trout fairly proficiently. “You’re better at that than I thought.”

“I hunted from when I was young and there was always some kind of game being prepared in the kitchens," he answered, cleaning his knife and the fish in the river. "It wasn’t the same as life at court by any means.”

Returning to their small camp he spiked the fish onto sharpened sticks and held them over the flames. "This may be a hit and miss process," he said with a hint of a smile. "But hopefully less of a miss than the queen's attempt at cookery."

Porthos noticed that despite the hot weather and the warmth of the fire Athos was starting to shiver. Fetching the bedrolls he threw a blanket around the man’s shoulders, but left him to carry on cooking the fish. If it was an attack of the shaking sickness then it was best he tried to overcome it by concentrating on a task.

“Is it bad?” he asked softly.

“Somewhat, but I’ll get through it.” Athos looked up. “By tomorrow I should be past the worst, though I doubt I’ll be a pleasant companion. Tonight may be trying for both of us.”

“Are those trout done?” Porthos pointed at the blackening fish.

Athos laughed weakly. “A little over perhaps, but I suppose it can be counted as sustenance.”

The food was good and Porthos wolfed his down, but he could see Athos was struggling. 

“You don’t want that?” he asked.

Athos shook his head and pulled the blanket around his shoulders. He was dripping with sweat and his eyes were unfocused.

“If you don’t then I’ll have it,” said Porthos, taking the leftovers. “You lie down and get some sleep.”

In the end it was a good thing Porthos was well nourished because the following hours weren’t easy. Athos was sick to his stomach several times, bringing up every mouthful of water Porthos forced him to swallow. He was disorientated and on the cusp of hallucination, fighting Porthos off even when he tried to help him relieve himself. There was no chance of sleep with him in this state and Porthos resigned himself to a long night.

By morning they were both exhausted but Athos was a little better, pallid in complexion with a bad case of the shakes, but at least he was lucid. He was also profusely apologetic.

“I’ve seen people suffering from this and I never imagined I’d allow myself to fall into such a condition. I’m sorry for putting you through it, my friend.”

“Don’t let it be for nothing,” said Porthos, punching Athos affectionately on the arm. “Or I’ll beat seven bells out of you.”

“A threat I take most seriously,” said Athos with a ghost of a smirk. “I promise I’ll try my utmost to behave from now on.”

“Thank you. I’d appreciate that,” said Porthos. “How do you feel now?”

“I’d murder His Majesty for a drink,” admitted Athos.

“Then it’s a good thing we have neither a bottle of wine nor the King with us,” laughed Porthos.

Whilst Athos was getting some much needed rest Porthos examined the area with his spyglass. There was a farm in the distance and a small pouch of money would likely buy them enough food from there to last the week. Treville would understand if they stretched their leave out an extra day or two and Porthos was determined he would see Athos well by the end of this. After that it was out of his hands and it would be up to Athos himself to continue his recovery.

The farmer’s wife was kind and provided them with enough bread, cheese and cured meat to last for several meals. There was also a generous amount of fruit in the basket, something that Athos could manage when he was feeling as if he could stomach little else.

With his companion spending most of the day unconscious, Porthos played endless games of solitaire and took occasional dips in the river to cool off from the sun. It was good to be outdoors even if the conversation was lacking. He’d decided to give his shirt a wash, for want of anything else to do, when he that noticed Athos had awoken and was watching him, stripped down to his small clothes, doing his laundry in the shallows.

“You could do with a wash and brush up too, you know,” he challenged.

“Maybe tomorrow,” said Athos.

“Well, at very least you can help me prepare the fire for tonight,” said Porthos, putting on his breeches and boots then hanging his shirt on a branch to dry.

Looking a little more like himself Athos emerged from under the blanket to join Porthos in collecting wood from the nearby thicket.

“I like this kind of stuff,” said Porthos as they cut the branches into usable chunks, ready for when the chill of the evening set in. “I hardly left the city when I was a boy. It was...” Porthos breathed in and out deeply as he struggled for an appropriate word. “Stifling, I suppose.”

“It was stifling where I grew up, though for different reasons,” said Athos. “My mother was, at one time, lady of honour to Marie de Medici and I spent too much time learning courtly manners. It was not something I had an interest in; my brother Thomas was far more accomplished. As far as I was concerned it was a penance.”

Porthos was fascinated. For years he'd known nothing about Athos and, more recently, just the barest of facts that the man was forced to reveal due to circumstances beyond his control. Now he was actually volunteering information. "Do you still have family living?" he asked.

"Only my fellow Musketeers." Athos glanced at Porthos. "Though I rate you higher than any blood relation," he said. "They would not have helped me out as you are doing."

Porthos was touched and unable to think how to answer such a compliment. "We're lucky to have each other," he said finally. "You look exhausted. It's high time we returned to the camp."

Wrapped in his blanket Athos immediately dozed off and Porthos felt the urge to protect rise within him as he lit the kindling and slowly stacked the wood over it. He then sat gazing into the flames and daydreaming until he too fell asleep.

It was fully dark by the time he opened his eyes and the fire was already dying down. Stoking it until it was burning fiercely once again, he then cut slices of cheese and meat and loaded them onto trenchers of bread.

“Wake up, Athos,” he said, nudging him with the toe of his boot.

The man looked surprisingly young with his hair a tangled mess and his expression one of startled confusion.

“Have some water,” said Porthos, passing him the canteen.

“Thank you,” said Athos, slowly coming round.

“So, now that your wife is off your back, have you thought about reacquainting yourself with the lovely Madame de Larroque?” asked Porthos as they sat around the fire eating supper.

“Firstly, Anne is still my legal wife,” said Athos. “And secondly, don’t you think that’s a rather personal question?”

“I spent all of last night cleaning up your vomit and helping you with your bodily functions. I think that gives me the right to ask a few personal questions,” said Porthos, smiling sideways at Athos. “Don’t you?”

“I suppose you have a point,” said Athos, “and I owe you an honest answer. The last thing I crave is the pleasant company of Ninon de Larroque.”

His comment was verging on brusqueness and Porthos looked up in surprise. "Did you and she not part well?" he asked.

"We parted fine as friends," said Athos. "Neither of us were prepared for anything more."

"Yet you seemed to take a shine to each other," mused Porthos.

"How about the widow Alice?" asked Athos, catching him off guard.

"She wanted me to choose." Porthos grinned. "And choose I did. I'm not ready for a quiet life just yet."

"There are times when I would like nothing more than that," said Athos, looking into the fire. "But not if it entails polite conversation over the supper table."

Porthos winced. If that was all Athos could see in his future with Ninon then she was certainly not for him. There was passion in the man. He'd seen it on more than one occasion, though it was well hidden most of the time.

"I apologise," yawned Athos, "but I'm going to have to turn in. This is taking its toll on me."

"No problem," said Porthos. After no sleep last night and just a nap today he too was ready for his bed. "How are the cravings?"

"I'll cope," said Athos succinctly.

Pulling the blanket up over his naked chest Porthos fell unconscious almost immediately. It was the whinnying of the horses, when dawn approached, that roused him enough to see bodies lurking about in the tree line, obviously up to no good.

"Athos," he whispered, leaning over until his mouth was close to the other man's ear. "Wake up. There are thieves nearby."

Reaching silently for their weapons the two men waited to be set upon and the attack, when it came, proved to be nothing more than the clumsy work of local brigands. Although outnumbered it was easy enough to deal with the men, wounding rather than killing and letting them scuttle back to their villages so they didn't have the irksome task of bodies to bury.

"That was exhilarating," said Porthos and as the rays of the sun appeared over the eastern hills he looked at Athos who was lying back in the grass, resting on his elbows with a satisfied expression on his face. "You're injured."

"Hardly," snorted Athos. "I was not at my best and one of them nicked me with his blade."

The blood was flowing down his right side and Porthos knelt over him and removed his shirt. "Let me see."

"Stop fussing, man."

"It's not too bad, but get in the river so I can clean it. We may as well make use of the fresh water while we have it."

" _Porthos_." Athos hated anyone troubling themselves over him. He seemed entirely unused to it.

"Don't _Porthos_ me; just do as you're told."

For once Athos complied and, from this alone, Porthos could see how low his spirits still were. Stripped to their small things they submerged themselves in the deeper parts of the icy water to wash away the remnants of blood and sweat and, once they were out of the river, Porthos re-examined the cut on Athos' side.

"It's a scratch," he said, now that he could see clearly. "You'll be fine. Just make sure it doesn't fester."

"I will," said Athos and there was an unusual quality to his voice which made Porthos look up.

Athos leaned in close and Porthos was confused. What could his intention be? Then it became all too apparent as his mouth pressed against Porthos' and his tongue navigated a course between parted lips. For a moment it was far from unpleasant and Porthos allowed himself to be kissed, returning the favour eagerly until common sense prevailed and he stumbled back a pace. "What are you doing?" he bristled.

Athos looked at him, his face awash with fear, but then he stilled his features. "I apologise. I'm not myself at present." He was flushed red to the tips of his ears. "I was overwhelmed. Please forgive me and forget this ever happened."

Porthos searched around for the right words. "Of course," he said in heated embarrassment. "We're friends and I'll forgive you anything. Consider the matter done." He held out his hand for Athos to shake and when their palms made contact he was witness to myriad emotions spilling across Athos' face, finding himself unexpectedly saddened when they were gone.

Getting dressed in silence there was nothing else to do but ready themselves for a sudden return to Paris.

"You will stay sober?" asked Porthos during the journey home.

“I promise I will not put your efforts to waste," said Athos bluntly, but there was no amused smirk to accompany his words, just schooled features and a studied air of calm.

 

1634

Porthos and Aramis had enjoyed a thoroughly entertaining day annoying the cardinal's guards, whilst still fulfilling their duties to the letter, and were in high spirits and full of chit chat as they made their way up the stairs to join d'Artagnan, who was waiting for them on the gantry.

"What's this about?" muttered Porthos. "The captain doesn't usually bother us with orders at the end of a day."

"No idea," said d'Artagnan who was leaning back against the balustrade. "As soon as I returned from duty I was asked to come to his office."

"The sooner we get in there, the sooner we'll find out," said Aramis, taking over Athos' role as voice of reason.

Where was Athos? wondered Porthos, looking around the garrison for his friend. For three years now he had been as sober as a judge and, because of it, had been officially promoted to the role of lieutenant. He had become a new man, though not the one Porthos had glimpsed when he was helping dry him out. That seemed such a long time ago now. "We'll wait for Athos. He'll know what's up," he said with confidence.

D'Artagnan shrugged. "He’s already talking to Treville. Been in there a while so I've heard. " 

Aramis knocked at the door. "Only one way to find out what’s going on," he said as he entered the office with Porthos and d'Artagnan following on behind. "You wanted to speak to us, sir?"

Athos was standing stiffly at the far side of the room and Porthos attempted to catch his eye but to no avail. 

Treville sat at his desk looking at all four men in turn, a resolute expression on his face. "The lieutenant here has some news for you all."

"I have been to the King and resigned my commission," Athos said in a matter-of-fact tone. "As of today I am no longer a member of this regiment."

Porthos felt the ground quake beneath his feet. The Musketeers were Athos' life. Athos was theirs. They were as one. He couldn't allow himself to speak just yet.

"What do you mean resigned?" said d'Artagnan in distress. Athos had been his mentor ever since he'd joined the black company. "You can't do that."

"I can and I have," said Athos, unfastening his pauldron and laying it on top of his folded cloak on the captain's desk.

"Are you ill?" asked Aramis with concern. "If so I'm certain the King would want his physicians to attend you."

Porthos grew ever more worried. This was exactly how Athos would behave if he were sick. He'd disappear on a whim and they'd find out nothing until the day of his funeral.

"I'm in the best of health nowadays." Athos threw Porthos a grateful look. "There are, however, pressing reasons why I must leave and I ask you, in the name of friendship, not to question me further on the matter. It is necessary, is all I will say."

The usually stoic Treville looked utterly despondent. Athos had been taking over some of his duties recently and he'd been priming him for the role of captain, ready for when he would one day retire from the service.

"But you're our lieutenant," said Porthos.

"Any one of you is fit for the job," said Athos with a nod of respect. "You're all excellent soldiers and leaders of men. Treville and I have complete faith in you."

"We can’t do this without you," said d'Artagnan in despair.

Athos clasped him by the shoulders. "You're no longer that impetuous, brash young man I first met, d'Artagnan. You're an experienced swordsman with a quick mind and the ability to thrive in any situation. Now wish me luck and say farewell."

"I will do so, but not willingly," said d'Artagnan and he fell into Athos' arms as a son would his father.

Aramis approached, waiting for d'Artagnan to release him. "I'll willingly wish you all the best, but I’ll not say goodbye." Grasping Athos' hand in a firm shake he held on to it for a moment. "Until we meet again, my friend."

Porthos, however, would not part under these circumstances and accompanied Athos to the stables. "If your decision has anything to do with what happened between us all those years ago then I beg you to reconsider," he said, once they were in the relative privacy of a stall.

"I assure you it doesn't, Porthos," said Athos earnestly. "I’ll always be grateful for your help during that difficult time and for your understanding and discretion afterwards regarding my behaviour. You're a true friend and I'll miss you."

"At least tell me where you're going," said Porthos. 

"I can't," said Athos regretfully. "But not because of a lack of trust between us. That is certain."

Leading his horse out of the stables he mounted up and, when seated, touched a finger to the brim of his hat in a gesture of salute. "Goodbye, Porthos. My sword is yours. I've left it with my landlady for you to collect at your leisure."

Without another word he cantered out of the yard and Porthos was left with a sinking feeling in his chest. He had coveted that beautiful weapon since the day he'd first seen it on Athos' wall, but he would give away ten of them to have his friend back.

 

1636

Military service had grown as dull as ditch water. There were wars out there to be fought, but the Musketeers were never involved in them and, under an endless routine of bodyguard duty, Porthos foundered, lacking enthusiasm for constant drilling and even finding Aramis' company tedious when he became more devout and continually talked of his intent to become an abbé. 

He was not considered for the role of lieutenant now that d'Artagnan had achieved the greatness that Athos had recognised in him and so, two years after Athos' departure, when an opportunity arose, Porthos too resigned his commission.

"But what will you do?" asked Aramis, downhearted that his oldest friend would soon be gone.

"I'm engaged to be married," said Porthos. The lady in question was widow of a well respected attorney and, whilst being a little long in the tooth, she was attractive and her well filled coffers would allow him the comfortable existence he had always desired.

“I’m sure she’s enchanting, but I’ll always resent her for taking you away,” said Aramis.

His fiancée was pleasant enough but Porthos was far from enchanted. He hadn’t been enchanted with anyone for years. “I’m too old for the tedium of training,” he explained. “It’s the quiet life for me now.”

He’d made his final goodbyes when, at the last minute, something called him back to the captain’s office. 

"Do you have any idea of Athos' whereabouts?" he asked Treville. "I'd like to invite him to my wedding, although I doubt very much he'll attend."

Treville steepled his fingers. "I was told to forward any important messages to the Chateau Bragelonne near Blois," he said. "As I see it, friendship is the most important message of all."

\---

Unsure quite why he was doing this, Porthos arrived at the entrance gates and looked up at a large white building nestled in amongst a backdrop of slender poplar trees. 

Staying his restless horse he called out to a boy who was working in the stable yard, "Does Athos... Does the Comte de la Fère live here?"

"He does, monsieur."

The young groom accompanied Porthos up to the house and then led his horse back down the drive to the stables to be fed and watered after the long ride. 

With more than a little trepidation Porthos knocked at the studded elm door, wondering exactly what he would discover within. His fear was that Athos would have returned to his old ways and he'd find nothing here but the shell of the man he once knew.

A maid answered and this put Porthos even less at ease. In fact he was about to make his excuses when a familiar voice could be heard coming from within.

“Who is it, Marguerite?”

The maid looked at him in askance and Porthos was bound to reply. “Tell the comte that an old friend is here to pay a visit,” he said.

Athos appeared at the door, dressed as if he had never left the regiment in a linen shirt and worn breeches and truthfully he seemed no more a nobleman than when Porthos had last seen him. It was a relief to find him looking so well and so ordinary, but what _did_ startle Porthos was that Athos was not alone. In his arms was a small boy, maybe two years of age at a guess.

“Porthos! It’s a delight to see you," said Athos, his eyes bright with pleasure. "Come in. I hope this isn't a fleeting visit.”

Porthos entered and looked around him, pleased to discover that the Chateau Bragelonne wasn't anything grander than a house, albeit a large one. "Thank you," he said gratefully. "I wasn't certain I'd be welcome."

"You'll always be welcome in my home."

Porthos was confused. The 'my' in that sentence indicated it was Athos alone who lived here yet the yawning child resting his head against Athos' shoulder spoke of different circumstances.

"Marguerite, fetch wine for M Porthos. We'll be in my study."

"Yes, sir. Shall I take the babe?"

Athos kissed the little boy's dark curly hair. "He's fine for now."

Porthos had rarely seen such a display of honest affection in the man and something inside him ached as he followed Athos through the house and into a small reception room that was comfortably furnished and had glazed doors which opened out to the gardens.

With a wave of his hand Athos indicated a chair. "Please sit and tell me all about life at the garrison. I've been starved of information about you all." Wrapping a blanket around the sleeping child in his arms he seated himself on the settee.

"There's no news to tell," said Porthos. "Treville still staggers on with d'Artagnan as his lieutenant. Aramis is on the point of joining the church and I have followed in your footsteps and resigned." He paused. "I did intend to marry, as you have, but that was not to be."

Athos looked confused. "I am not married."

"But the child?"

The conversation lapsed as Marguerite bustled in with a tray containing a claret jug and a single glass.

"Will you stay for a while?" Athos asked Porthos.

"I will." Porthos had nowhere else to be and a million questions on his lips.

Athos smiled. "Marguerite, make up a bed for M Porthos and tell Hortense to plan meals with a guest in mind."

The maid bobbed her head then left the study and, one handed, Athos filled the glass and passed it to Porthos.

"Still not drinking?"

Athos shook his head and looked down at the little one resting comfortably in his arms. "I have added reason now that I am responsible for my ward Raoul."

"He is your son and there is no point in denying it," said Porthos.

Athos placed the boy carefully on the seat next to him and covered him with a blanket. "Is it that obvious?" he asked. "I had hoped not."

"Obvious to me, but then I know every feature of your face," said Porthos. "Perhaps it would not be as clear to others." Standing, he unclipped the sword from his belt and placed it on Athos' desk. "I came to return this," he said. "I feel even more need to do so now that you have an heir."

"The sword is yours," said Athos. "It was a gift and I will not have it back."

"Tell me about the boy's mother." Porthos returned to his seat and took a swig of wine. "And I might do as you ask and keep it."

"It's a complicated story."

"Not Milady de Winter?" said Porthos in horror.

Athos snorted. "No, not her. Though it is truly more of a mess than if Anne had been his mother." He leant forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I trust you more than anyone, Porthos, but before I tell you this you must swear to keep it to yourself and, most importantly, away from Aramis' ears."

"I swear," said Porthos, deeply intrigued by now. What did Aramis have to do with it?

"Raoul was born following an indiscretion between myself and the Duchesse de Chevreuse."

"Ah." Porthos now understood the need for secrecy. Madame de Chevreuse was a married woman: lady in waiting to the Queen and long term mistress of Aramis. "But how did you and she form an attachment? You barely spoke to her at court."

"It was hardly an attachment, although I suppose a brief physical one cannot be denied." Athos smirked. "She was in disguise delivering a message for the Queen. I was on an undercover mission for Treville. We met up at a priest's house one night and, well, she is a playful woman who likes her sport is all I shall say on the matter."

"Aramis has spoken of similar things," laughed Porthos.

"I heard rumours of her confinement and discovered that Raoul had been left at a church orphanage in the same village where we had spent the night together. There was a note confirming what I suspected and I was not going to allow my own child to be brought up under those circumstances, so I left the regiment and came to Blois. The life we lead here at Bragelonne may be unorthodox, but it's of my choosing and I enjoy it."

Porthos never had more respect for the man. "But why not claim him as your own?" he asked.

"The Duchesse was exiled by the King and is now living in England. She is Raoul's mother and also higher ranked in the nobility than I am. She may wish to claim him as hers one day so until then my hands are tied."

"He should be able to call you father," said Porthos in a gruff voice.

"That's as maybe, but it won't happen. Not until circumstances change." Athos picked the child up carefully so as not to disturb him. "I'll take him through to Marguerite and then show you the estate. We have hunters to ride and a pack of hounds here. There is no end of sport to be had."

"But not the kind that the Duchesse de Chevreuse likes to make," said Porthos with a wink.

"Of that we are sadly lacking," laughed Athos. "Although it makes for an easier existence."

\---

"This place is beautiful," said Porthos as they rode across the fields and down towards the river. "Only you could manage to burn down one house and have a spare up your sleeve."

Athos laughed loud and long. "This will be Raoul's one day," he said. "He’s already named as Vicomte de Bragelonne."

"Lucky little blighter," grinned Porthos.

Dismounting they tethered their horses and sat in the shade of a tree. "Tell me about you," said Athos. "What has happened since we last saw each other? You said you were engaged at one time."

"I was indeed," said Porthos. "I fell out of love with military routine and was looking for an escape. Charlotte was the widow of an attorney. She was nice enough." Porthos searched his heart for the true reason he’d called off the wedding. "But then I thought of what you'd said about polite conversations over dinner and I couldn't imagine living out such a tedious life." He paused. "I've been thinking of offering my services abroad as a soldier of fortune. There's trouble brewing in England I've heard."

"There is indeed," said Athos. "Which side would you back?"

"Whichever pays the best," laughed Porthos. "Honestly I’d feel disloyal not supporting the crown, but a king who does away with Parliament because they disagree with him does not sit well with me." It was unusual and very agreeable to have the opportunity to voice his opinions. "Have we ever spent time discussing politics before?" he asked.

"I was either drunk or taciturn," smiled Athos. "And you were too busy carousing with Aramis."

"Now look at us." Porthos lay back on the grass. "Old retired military men, put out to pasture."

"Hardly that." Athos lay next to him. "You're as much of a prime specimen as ever and if I did not have this new responsibility of fatherhood to deal with I'd join you in your adventures."

"Thank you," said Porthos quietly.

"For what?" Athos leant up on an elbow and looked at him in confusion.

"Allowing me this time here to take stock of things." Porthos sighed. "I needed it. I've been lost these past few years," he confessed.

"Without you I would be in my grave," said Athos solemnly. "I owe you my life and, in payment of that debt, this will always be your home. Besides which, I can't think of anyone I would rather spend my days with."

This open and loving version of Athos was a joy, but also a bewilderment. "Fatherhood has been good for you," said Porthos.

"Come," said Athos suddenly, jumping to his feet. "Let me show you how well Raoul has taken to riding."

"He's a baby," said Porthos with an incredulous expression on hïs face.

"He's three years old and loves his pony more than his papa."

\---

It was nothing less than delightful to spend time with Athos at Bragelonne. Days were taken up hunting with hounds and playing with Raoul, who was a happy little boy and, indeed, perfectly comfortable on horseback. 

The two men sparred with rapiers, kept their aim in with bows and the often spoken of time happily flew away from them as they acted at being soldiers without any of the dangers or monotony of military life. 

Weeks turned to months. Nights began to draw in and soon became the times that Porthos enjoyed best, when they sat having heated discussions over the rights of commoners and powers that should be extended to them, with Athos, as devil's advocate, arguing for the nobility. Porthos most loved the fact that nothing fueled their exuberance other than the desire to debate political matters and the pleasure of hours spent in each other’s company.

It was only when Porthos realised his attachment to Athos had grown deeper than that of a simple friendship he knew it was time to move on. It was startling the way love had crept up without him even noticing.

"I'll ride to Le Havre within the week," he said, over breakfast one morning. "I know of a sea captain there who'll be willing to give me passage across the Channel to England."

Athos was silent for a while. "Winter will soon be on us. Perhaps leave it until spring is here."

"Soldiering doesn't wait for the seasons," countered Porthos. He needed to be away from here promptly before his feelings grew out of hand. "You know that."

"The only thing I know is that I don’t want you to leave." With that Athos stood up and strode out of the room and Porthos was left at the table conflicted, not knowing what he should do for the best. His heart was full; he was, if he were honest with himself, delirious with happiness. The only problem was that this could not be allowed to happen.

"Would you tell the master I'm taking Raoul down to the village," said Marguerite as she came in to clear the breakfast things. "I saw him heading for the stables and I know he'll fret if he returns to the house and the boy is not here."

"I'll happily do that," said Porthos, grateful for an excuse to speak to his friend, despite the fact he had no idea what to say.

Following the path down to the stables he discovered Athos grooming his favourite horse, Roger in one of the stalls. "Marguerite's taking Raoul out for a morning stroll. She didn't want you to worry over his whereabouts," he said, leaning against the wall and watching Athos work.

"Thank you," said Athos stiffly, putting down the curry comb. "I apologise for my earlier outburst."

He sounded as distant as the old Athos had been and it bothered Porthos somewhere deep inside. "Don't be sorry," he said. "Come for a walk with me. I have things I need to explain."

They wandered through the grounds and into the surrounding woodland and, once they had reached an area dark enough and private enough for Porthos to feel comfortable, he waylaid Athos with an arm about his shoulders.

"I don't _want_ to, so much as I _have_ to go away," he said earnestly. "I can’t stay here any longer, Athos. If I do I’ll never leave." He searched Athos’ face for a sign of comprehension. "Do you understand what I am saying?"

"I've loved you for seven years," said Athos in a calm voice. "So, yes, I believe I do."

"But what can be done about it?" asked Porthos in despair.

Athos stepped close and brushed his thumb over Porthos' bearded chin, tipping his face downward. "I’ll try this once more," he said, "and if it proves to be a mistake then you’re right; you must go."

He touched his lips to Porthos' as he had done years before and, again, Porthos opened to him. Again he lengthened and deepened the kiss, but this time there was no running from it and no regret attached.

They lingered over each other, sucking and nipping and licking until eventually Porthos did pull away, but only for fear of embarrassing himself.

"I know this is something that should not happen between us," he said in an unsteady voice. "But neither my body nor my heart appear to understand that."

Athos blushed and looked down at the ground for a moment. “Now perhaps you'll realise why I had no desire to run into Ninon’s arms.”

“What do we do?” asked Porthos.

Athos curved a hand around the back of his neck and drew him close. “For now, some more of the same would suit me fine.”

Unable to resist, Porthos caught Athos in his arms and kissed him and kissed him and kissed him until both of them were so senseless they could do nothing but press hardened flesh together and groan into each other's mouths.

"This is entirely too good," gasped Porthos. "And to think I said there was no sport of such kind to be had here."

He may have been making light hearted comment, but inside he was a frightened man and Athos was able to sense it.

"Porthos," he said, a hand wrapped around his forearm. "I know this must be distressing for you. I've had a long time to grow accustomed to my feelings." He smiled. "Plus one terrible moment of shame to recover from."

"I kissed you back then as I recall," said Porthos.

"Momentarily," laughed Athos. "Until you realised what you were doing."

"I realise now," said Porthos and he took Athos' mouth hard, his tongue snaking in and exploring further until once again they were both too aroused to continue. "But what can this mean for us?"

"As far as the bedroom is concerned?" asked Athos. "Or are you talking about life in general?"

"Both," said Porthos, shaken beyond belief by these extraordinary events. 

"Come to my chamber tonight," said Athos earnestly. "Marguerite and Raoul sleep at the other end of the house and my door has a solid lock on it. We can be certain of privacy and can take time to know each other."

Porthos hardened further at the thought of this and nodded eagerly.

"As far as others are concerned then we can never reveal this to anyone," Athos continued. "But what we feel is not entirely uncommon and at least we have this place in which we can be private and still outwardly be friends. It is perfectly acceptable for former brothers in arms to enjoy each other's company."

"I enjoy yours a lot," said Porthos and his voice was husky with desire. "Dear God, Athos, why did it take me so long?"

He thought of all those wasted years: the nights they could have spent together after Athos had declared his affections and gone on to become a sober and strong man. But perhaps back then it would have been a flash in the pan affair, fraught with difficulties from carrying on dual existences as soldiers and lovers. Now they were changed: garrulous and content with each other, free to do as they wished.

Athos laughed. "I've been wondering that myself and am only glad you came to your senses before leaving for England."

"I will not leave," declared Porthos.

"I would not allow you to do so."

Once again they became locked in a passionate embrace, drawing strength from one another as mouths connected and tongues slid softly together.

"Let's continue our walk," said Porthos, pulling free of Athos. "I cannot kiss you again or it will doubtless lead to other things. Not that I'm certain how we go about such activities."

"We'll learn together," said Athos and he looked at Porthos and, unguarded, his eyes were burning with desire. "I'll enjoy learning every inch of you."

"I can’t wait," said Porthos truthfully as they emerged from the woodland and took the riverside path.

"Whereas I’ve grown used to it." Athos smiled at Porthos. "With a little assistance from my imagination and my hand."

"That's not helping with my arousal at all," laughed Porthos. The thought of Athos lying naked on the sheets and bringing himself off was too exciting for words. More exciting still with the added knowledge that he would see it for himself within hours of now.

"I think you are mistaken." Athos indicated the distended front of Porthos' breeches with a nod of his head. 

"Cheeky bastard." Porthos could feel the blush rising. "Enough of this smutty talk. It's worse than the kissing. I reckon we should take the hounds up to the fields for a day of coursing. That should expend some energy and keep us out of trouble until tonight."

The day was as delightful as ever. The lurchers ran well and the sport was good, but nothing could diminish the undercurrent of lust that surged between them. A single heated look or brush of hands was enough to set Porthos off and afterwards, during his bath, he was hard pressed not to touch himself as he washed away the blood and grime of the hunt. Especially seeing as Athos had been first in the tub and would likely have been thinking the same thing.

An hour or two spent playing with Raoul was a perfect distraction and by the time supper was served Porthos was pleasantly charged with an overall sense of well being and happiness. They wiled away the remainder of the evening at the draughts board and when Athos declared it was time for bed Porthos vigorously agreed.

"Come straight to my rooms," murmured Athos. "Marguerite will be none the wiser and I cannot wait a moment longer to be alone with you."

Was this why Aramis had carried on so many affairs with married women? wondered Porthos. The illicit nature of what he and Athos were about to do definitely added an element of spice to an already thrilling adventure.

Opening the door to his rooms Athos ushered Porthos inside then turned the key in the lock. Leaning back against the panelling he released a pent up sigh of relief. "Now finally I have you to myself."

Porthos looked around him. A small anteroom led to a chamber in the middle of which stood an ornately carved bed. The candles were lit, fires were burning in both hearths and Porthos felt safe and comfortable.

After a moment's appraisal Athos fell on him with a passion, delving into his mouth for ardent kisses, hands skating over his body as he encouraged him towards the bedroom. "I have no idea what to do," he said as he untied the laces of Porthos' shirt and stripped it from him. "All I know is that I have to be naked with you."

Kissing Athos greedily Porthos joined in with the undressing and soon they were down to their small clothes, the cotton tenting from mutual arousal as they examined each other with obvious appreciation. 

"To bed, my love," said Porthos with a lusty grin.

 

\---end


End file.
